


Cruel Irony

by Sul_Ivanko



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean-as-Jesus, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sul_Ivanko/pseuds/Sul_Ivanko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was created perfect by the Father, to be the Savior of Mankind. He was created perfect, and Castiel mourned. Dean-as-Jesus story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruel Irony

**Cruel Irony**

  
**Disclaimer** : I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters there in. They are the genius brain childs of Mike Kripke and the CW. I do, however, own the concept behind this story and how I am using the aforementioned items. I will ask you not to archive, distribute, or copy my work without my express permission. Thank you.  
 **Rating** : PG  
 **Spoilers** : Seasons One through Four-ish.  
 **Pairings** : Can be taken as Dean/Sam and Dean/Castiel (one sided), but only if you squint, otherwise, none.  
 **Warning** : Jesus comparisons, possible blaspheme.  
 **Summary** : He was created perfect by the Father, to be the Savior of Mankind. He was created perfect, and Castiel mourned.

____

He was created perfect, Dean Winchester. Trained to save the lives of innocents by his father. Created for the salvation of humanity by the Father. A being so caring, so giving, that he never once thought of himself, never put himself before another. His soul was pure, for all that he was a sinner. One of the strongest hunters ever forged, tempered within the fires of vengeance as a child, the fires of Hell as a man. A champion for those without a voice, those who are preyed upon by all that is dark and evil in this mortal world.

He was created perfect, but he was raised, and lived, courting darkness. A darkness that has done its best to tarnish his pure soul.

When he was young and innocent, like those that he has spent his life saving, he learned the pain of loss. The death of the mother Mary left a hole within him, and his family, that could never be filled. His young mind couldn’t handle everything that had happened to him in such a short amount of time, all the changes, the missing parts of what was once his family. So he compensated the best he could. He tried to fill the gaps.

He quickly became the head of their broken household. He was John’s wife, growing up, in every way but the one that was needed. He took care of the chores; cooked, cleaned, did the laundry. He took care of John, whatever he needed, be it a silent presence at his back, a steady hand to bind his wounds, a strong shoulder to cry on. He took care of Sammy, and there had been a time, back when this was new and raw and the wounds on his heart still bled, when he refused to do anything but heat a bottle and feed the baby. His responsibilities just grew from there. But he wasn’t Mary, and he never could be.

He was Sammy’s caretaker. His mother and brother and best friend all in one. He gave up everything for that little boy. He took care of him, raised him, protected him, taught him all he knew. He left his own childhood behind in order to raise his only brother, his only son. But that was ok, because even though Dad always told him to “Take care of Sammy,” he needn’t have bothered. He would have done so anyway. That was his job.

He was John’s Little Soldier. He learned to accept orders instead of love from the man that had once been Daddy, but was now just Sir. He learned to read on books about things-that-just-shouldn’t-be, learned to shoot a gun at six and a half –hit all targets-, learned how to tell a werewolf from a windigo on his first hunt –just a boy, barely eight-, learned to salt-and-burn the remains of the departed without a flinch –he threw up the first time-, learned to distance himself from the victims –don’t make it personal-, to con and cheat and lie and steal. He learned not to question, just to do. And in doing this, he learned to become a Soldier.

He was that gorgeous, dark stranger to countless women in countless towns over countless years. Seeking out that one night of closeness with another, knowing even as he did so that it wasn’t really love he was getting from those girls. Knowing that he would be long gone by the time his partner for the night awoke the next morning. Knowing, but not caring. It was the only time he ever felt loved unconditionally, even if for such a short time.

He was the best thing to ever happen to one man.

Dean Winchester was many things, John’s wife and Sammy’s mother. A hunter, friend, and beautiful lover.

He was many things, but never one.

He was never just a man. Never just Dean.

Dean Winchester was perfect.

____

Castiel looked down upon the man who was supposed to save the world, the Savior of Mankind, and mourned. He mourned because, for all that Dean was pure and selfless and good; for all that his fellow angels had encouraged his life, his upbringing, thinking that it would more easily make him a malleable soldier who would follow their commands; for all that he loved life, others’ lives, and held them as sacred above his own; for all that he should have been the perfect vessel of the Lord’s Benevolence and Grace; for all that and so much more.

He mourned because it was not his place to question his Father’s Word and to Doubt was to Sin. But even so, he could not help but to feel that somewhere, somehow, his Father’s plans for this mortal world, for this beautiful and devastating man, had gone so terribly, terribly wrong.

He mourned because Dean had taught him that. That people, small and insignificant as he had been lead to believe, were more than that, and everyone deserved a chance. That free will, to question “shit orders”, was to be alive, and some things were best left up to personal choice. He mourned because after thousands of years, he had finally learned what it meant to truly, selfishly, love.

He mourned because Dean was just too human. It was what made him so wonderful, so special. That he did the things he did, with no special powers and no expectations of a higher help from angels who had made it clear that they did not care for him. That he did it anyway.

He mourned because his brother’s just couldn’t, wouldn’t, see him for the shining light within the darkness that he was. Couldn’t see the soul within that rugged human form. They couldn’t see the beauty.

But most of all, be mourned because Dean couldn’t see himself as Castiel saw him. How special, beautiful and kind, how powerful his soul and his belief were. He couldn’t see his own worth.

And still his brothers couldn’t see that his militant upbringing may have made him a soldier, but it didn’t make him theirs. That there was only one being in the cosmos that could claim possession of all of Dean Winchester; mind, heart, body, and soul. He may have dedicated his life to service, but it was not to them. He didn’t believe in Angels, even knowing now that they exist. He believed in only one thing. His brother’s couldn’t see that their attempts at controlling this incontrollable force were doing nothing but pushing him farther and farther away.

No one understood that Dean Winchester dedicated his life to only one man. And that man was not God.

Castiel looked down upon his charge, fast asleep in this small motel in a Nowhere town. He looked down upon his commander, able to find peace and serenity here only. He looked down upon the Savior, lying so still within the arms of another.

Only he could see it, what this life of service had led to. Selfless, powerful, and kind. Dean Winchester had died and gone to Hell to save that which he loved. He had died and risen as only one before had done.

Castiel stepped back, he had other things that had to be completed before heaven’s plans could commence. He couldn’t spend all of his time watching over this one man, no matter how much he may wish it. He turned around, giving one last look to the two within the bed.

Dean Winchester was created perfect and his life of servitude had led him to love only one man. So Castiel left the room, with his Father’s favorite Son lying, in love and comfort, within the arms of the Anti-Christ.

And Castiel mourned.

____

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. 
> 
> Cruel Irony is one of a string of Dean-as-Jesus stories I am playing with every now and then. I hope to have another installment of the Irony series up sometime soon. 
> 
> Please ConCrit this story, if you have time. I’m rather worried about the slight rambling that started to take over when I was writing this. Hopefully, I managed to fix most of the mistakes, but if anything doesn’t make sense, or if my wording is too awkward, please tell me. 
> 
> Oh, and my two favorite parts of this story are the “John’s wife and Sammy’s mother” bit and the last (full) paragraph with “in love and comfort”. What do you think?
> 
> Thank you.


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